


Reference

by tastewithouttalent



Series: Experience [2]
Category: Gekkan Shoujo Nozaki-kun
Genre: Blushing, Developing Relationship, Idiots in Love, Inline with canon, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2014-08-14
Packaged: 2018-02-11 18:30:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2078625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"'I don’t have any reference.' Nozaki slides the half-finished page across the table, idly shoving it away like the motion is punctuating his words. 'I write shoujo manga. This is different.'" Nozaki can't work without a reference point, and Mikoshiba gives him one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reference

Nozaki realizes the problem after a half hour of drawing.

He’s halfway done with a panel, sketching in the last of the lines, when the thought hits him. His hand stills, his eyes unfocus; then he sets his pencil aside, pushes the paper an inch away, and looks up.

“Mikoshiba.”

The other boy is curled in over the other side of the table, his hand gliding over the page in front of him with the fluid grace his backgrounds always draw from his fingers. It is a moment before he surfaces; Nozaki doesn’t rush him. It’s better to let Mikoshiba finish the panel he’s working on before he loses the flow of the design, and he gets flustered if Nozaki forces him to stop halfway through. He just waits, watches Mikoshiba chew idly on his lower lip as he finishes the last of it before he sets the pencil aside and finally looks up.

“Yeah?”

“We can’t do this.”

Nozaki doesn’t offer any further explanation. He knows Mikoshiba will ask for clarification, anyway. The other boy’s forehead creases in confusion, his head tips to the side, his lower lip curves into an involuntary pout. “What? Why not?”

“I don’t have any reference.” Nozaki slides the half-finished page across the table, idly shoving it away like the motion is punctuating his words. “I write shoujo manga. This is different.”

“Why is it different?” Mikoshiba reaches to pull the page around towards him, stares at the penciled lines as if desperately looking for an answer in the shading. Nozaki watches the top of his head, the fall of his hair as he leans in closer to the page.

“This is about two boys.” It’s an obvious problem. He should have seen it earlier. “I’ve only ever written about a girl and a guy before.”

“How different can it be?” Mikoshiba asks without looking up.

“I don’t know.” Nozaki leans back, crosses his arms over his chest. “I don’t have any reference.” He’s repeating himself, but it bears restating. The problem can’t be talked away, accuracy is crucial. He’s never been very good at inventing ideas on his own; he needs models, reference points, even if it’s just other manga.

Mikoshiba makes a desperate whining noise. “But you can’t  _stop_  here, we’re abandoning Tomoda just like his friend did!” He sounds legitimately upset, like he’s on the verge of tears even though Nozaki can’t see his face. “We need to tell their story, Nozaki.”

Maybe it’s the desperation in Mikoshiba’s voice that pushes Nozaki’s imagination into uncharted territory. Maybe it’s turning the problem over in his head so he can see the solution staring him in the face. Maybe it’s just serendipity giving him exactly the answer he needs when he reaches for it. The reason doesn’t matter; what does is that Nozaki does see the answer, suddenly, as clear in front of him as the sound of choked-back tears in Mikoshiba’s voice.

“Ah.” He unfolds his arms, breathes out a sigh of relief. “That’s it.”

Mikoshiba looks up from the page, his eyes shining with unshed tears and lip trembling. “What’s it?”

Nozaki points at him. “You. Imagine you’re Tomoda.” It’s not ideal -- Mikoshiba is usually his reference for girls, after all, but it’s the best he has right now. “A  _guy_.” Maybe that’ll help. “And I’m your best friend.” That’s easy enough, in that it’s actually true. “We’ll just act it out.”

Mikoshiba’s face glows warm with delight at this solution even before he nods sharp and determined. “I can do that.” Nozaki’s not actually certain he can, but he refrains from actually expressing his concerns. No need to stress Mikoshiba unnecessarily, after all, and he  _does_  need the information. “Where should we start?”

“From the last scene.” Nozaki slides out from under the table, comes around so he’s across the corner from Mikoshiba instead of across the whole breadth of the surface. “It’s the last day of school, Tomoda is just declaring his devotion to his friend.”

“Okay.” Mikoshiba nods, opens his mouth, hesitates. “What should I call you, though? The main character doesn’t have a set name.”

“Just call me Nozaki, since we used that on this last playthrough.” It doesn’t much matter, anyway, and it’s one less thing for Mikoshiba to remember.

The other boy nods, tips his head down so his hair falls in front of his eyes. It’s not quite right -- the motion is too feminine, not enough like Tomoda’s established character -- but it’ll do, Nozaki can make the corrections he needs in his own head. “I can’t believe it’s been three years already, Nozaki.”

“Yeah.” Nozaki leans back from the table, reaches behind himself to brace himself upright. “And you’ve been there for me the whole time, Tomoda.”

“I’m glad.” Mikoshiba ducks his head even farther, then lifts his chin up and away. “All I wanted was to be helpful to you, you know.”

“All you wanted?” Nozaki can feel the character settling over him, furrowing his brow with confusion as he takes on the role more thoroughly. “What about your own goals, Tomoda?”

Mikoshiba laughs weakly, tosses his hair back. “Well. You’ve been the most important thing to me since we met.” He doesn’t start blushing until the words are out; Nozaki can watch the red seep into his cheeks, the embarrassment rising hot under the other boy’s skin. But Mikoshiba keeps his chin up, even though he starts biting his lower lip again out of nerves this time instead of concentration.

“Don’t.” Nozaki reaches out, touches his fingers to Mikoshiba’s lip. The other boy looks at him, too startled to push back the reflexive reaction, and lets his mouth drop open under the pressure. It’s perfect, Nozaki considers, it’s the ideal response. Mikoshiba is a better actor than he gave him credit for. “Don’t say I’m more important than you are.” He lets his fingers linger for a moment before dropping his hand; Mikoshiba is staring at him, wide-eyed and confused although he knows what’s coming next, Nozaki already wrote this far into the story.

“But you are,” Mikoshiba says. Nozaki can hear his voice shaking with the edge of melodrama, the excess of emotion that always characterizes Mikoshiba’s responses. He can strip that out in his head, he can work with this.

“You’re important to me, too, Tomoda.” Nozaki feels like his delivery is a bit off; his voice draws a little flat at the end, a little too high in the middle. But Mikoshiba’s face goes as dark as his hair, so either he doesn’t notice or he’s making up for Nozaki’s acting with his own. “Don’t put yourself down.”

“Nozaki…” Mikoshiba ducks his head again, his face falls into shadow -- and Nozaki pauses, leans away.

“This is as far as I got,” he says in his usual voice, absent the faint resonance of the character he was putting on. “I don’t know where it goes from here. Should there be more of a confession?”

Mikoshiba is still crimson when he lifts his head; Nozaki doesn’t comment on it. The other boy’s embarrassment is fast to arrive and slow to leave, he knows enough to work around it by now. “I...I think that’s enough to make it clear.”

“But where should it go next?” Nozaki tilts his head, stares at Mikoshiba like maybe the answer will appear in the downward cant of the other boy’s chin. “As Tomoda, what would you  _want_  to happen next?”

Mikoshiba pauses. Nozaki can see him thinking, see ideas coming through his head and being discarded. When he starts flushing Nozaki knows he’s got him. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” Mikoshiba turns his chin down farther, until Nozaki can’t see his face at all. “Nothing, it’s nothing.”

“Tell me.” Nozaki leans around the edge of the table, reaches out to brace himself next to Mikoshiba so he can try to see under the shadow of the other boy’s hair. “As Tomoda. Anything is fine, what would you want?”

There’s another pause. Then Mikoshiba lifts his head, still scarlet across every inch of exposed skin, but when his eyes meet Nozaki’s they’re steady enough that the other boy knows he really does have an answer. “I -- I think a kiss would be best. To prove how Nozaki -- the character, I mean -- feels.”

Nozaki nods. It’s reasonable, he can see the next page of the plot like it’s being written in his head. “Good.” He pauses, takes a moment to collect himself back into the character he is portraying; then he meets Mikoshiba’s flinching gaze, rewinds to the last line. “Don’t put yourself down.”

“Nozaki…” Mikoshiba starts, and this time Nozaki finishes the sentence for him by leaning in over the distance between them to catch Mikoshiba’s mouth with his own. He can feel the other boy blush harder in the flush of heat under his lips, the faint sucking inhale of surprise Mikoshiba takes against his mouth. Nozaki can see the individual strands of red hair in front of his eyes before he thinks to close them, can feel how tense Mikoshiba’s shoulders are even before he reaches out to curl his fingers against the back of the other boy’s neck.

When he pulls back he doesn’t go very far, just enough so he can open his eyes and see Mikoshiba’s face. The other boy’s eyes are still open but they’re out-of-focus; he looks slightly glazed, like his attention has melted, spilled through his fingers and is lost.

“What now?” Nozaki prods him, and Mikoshiba blinks, forces his gaze into focus on Nozaki’s eyes.

“Oh.” Nozaki can see him swallow, can hear the faint sound of his throat working on the motion. “This -- this is nice.”

“Should we keep going?” Nozaki asks levelly. His fingers are still against Mikoshiba’s neck; when the other boy ducks his head in a nod he can feel the movement under his hand. He nods too in understanding, waits for Mikoshiba to lift his head again before he comes back in for another kiss. He’s slower this time, more careful in the movement of his lips; Mikoshiba is breathing hard against his cheek, he can feel the radiant heat of the other boy’s blush against his skin even without opening his eyes to see the color. When Mikoshiba parts his lips it’s so tentative Nozaki isn’t sure, at first, what he’s doing, considers pulling back and asking to be sure. But then Mikoshiba’s tongue brushes over his own mouth, delicate but deliberate, and Nozaki takes that as the closest thing to verbal insistence he can get and opens his mouth. They both hesitate for a moment; then they act at the same time, tongues sliding together in an instant rush of heat and wet. Nozaki can feel the sound Mikoshiba makes, some weird combination of a groan and a whimper, and he’s going to offer an approving hum but instead what comes out is a growl, a low rumble that vibrates off the inside of Mikoshiba’s mouth so he can feel it amplified back into his own body. Mikoshiba’s hands shove against Nozaki’s chest, curl into fists of his shirt, and Nozaki thinks to protest that this isn’t masculine enough, this is back to Mikoshiba’s usual tendencies, but when he reaches out his fingers run up against Mikoshiba’s stomach, slide up over his chest, and there’s no question that the sharp lines of his body are a boy’s. Mikoshiba starts to lean backwards, as if Nozaki’s touch is a push, but he doesn’t let go of his hold on Nozaki’s shirt; even as their mouths come apart Nozaki is toppling forward, landing harder than he intends and mostly atop the other boy.

He takes advantage of the momentary separation to ask, “Is this okay?” even though he’s pretty sure he knows the answer already. Mikoshiba nods, fast and without closing his mouth; Nozaki can feel how hard he’s breathing in the seconds before he leans back down to resume the kissing where they left off. The angle of their bodies is less than perfectly comfortable; Nozaki is slanted halfway across Mikoshiba’s chest, only maintaining his balance by letting Mikoshiba’s neck go so he can brace himself against the floor and by the continued pressure of the other boy’s fingers in his shirt. That still leaves him a hand free, though, and when he lets his fingers slide down over Mikoshiba’s chest the other boy jerks like he’s been shocked, chokes a too-fast inhale against Nozaki’s mouth. Nozaki huffs a laugh, pulls back for a moment so he can focus on fitting his fingers up under Mikoshiba’s shirt, balance himself and move one leg in between the other boy’s to get a better position for his weight. Mikoshiba whines at the touch of Nozaki’s fingers on his skin, arches up off the floor against the other boy’s body; with the shift in their positions Nozaki can feel Mikoshiba pressed in hard against his leg, can better appreciate the edge of Mikoshiba’s hip as something to grind himself against as well. He’s starting to lose focus, he can feel the heat under his skin washing out his attention in perfect time with the flush burning scarlet over Mikoshiba’s cheeks; it takes active effort to pull his thoughts together, to form coherency while he’s starting to form a rhythm to the instinctive push of his hips down against Mikoshiba’s.

“What now?” He sounds truly strange, now, his voice is in a low register he can’t remember ever hitting before.

Mikoshiba doesn’t answer for a moment. His fingers are tensing involuntarily against Nozaki’s shirt, his eyes are out of focus and fixed on Nozaki’s shoulder instead of his face, his lips are parted and flushed red as his cheeks from the press of Nozaki’s mouth. Nozaki isn’t even sure Mikoshiba heard the question.

“Mikoshiba.” Mikoshiba blinks, drags his gaze up to meet Nozaki’s, though he doesn’t close his mouth or let his hold go. “What do you want now?” Nozaki has a pretty good guess -- he has some clear ideas on what  _he_  wants, at least -- but he wants to be thorough. “As Tomoda.”

“As Tomoda,” Mikoshiba repeats back, like he doesn’t quite understand the words. His blush darkens, he closes his mouth to swallow, but his eyes stay fixed on Nozaki, even though they’re skimming across the other boy’s features rather than fixed on his eyes. “It’s. I. I want you --” He stalls out, his blush goes darker than Nozaki has ever seen it before. Then he looks away, lets all the air in his lungs out in a gust of desperate determination, and lets his hold on Nozaki’s shirt go. Nozaki doesn’t realize what he’s doing until Mikoshiba’s hand pushes in against the front of his pants, Mikoshiba’s fingers tense into the offer of more even though the other boy’s face is so hot Nozaki thinks he might burn if he touches it.

“Oh.” Nozaki’s not really surprised, after all. He slide the hand under Mikoshiba’s shirt back down, curls his fingers just under the top edge of Mikoshiba’s pants, fails to resist the urge to rock in hard against the other boy’s palm. “Yeah.” He still sounds weird; swallowing doesn’t seem to help but he tries anyway, fixes his eyes on Mikoshiba’s shoulder instead of the flushed heat melting the other boy’s expression into softness. “Makes sense.”

“Yeah.” Mikoshiba sounds like he’s choking on his words, or maybe on his breathing, but he’s pushing up into Nozaki’s touch, out of rhythm with desperation. “That’s -- as Tomoda, yeah, that’s -- what I want.”

“Okay.” Nozaki rocks back over his knees, pulls away from Mikoshiba’s hand although the half-pleasurable ache in his stomach protests the removal of pressure. But he needs both hands to get the front of Mikoshiba’s pants open; the angle is weird in reverse, he has to actually think through the process of getting the button free of the cloth, and Mikoshiba isn’t moving to help him. The other boy has thrown an arm over his face, although it does nothing to cover his now-permanent blush, is breathing in high whining gasps even though Nozaki has barely touched him yet. Nozaki starts to come back in once he has Mikoshiba’s fly down -- then he looks again, takes in the desperate angle of Mikoshiba’s arm and the now-clear pool of heat low in his abdomen, and takes a minute to get his own pants open as well. It’s easier with familiarity, and then he’s coming back down, settling his elbow in over Mikoshiba’s shoulder so he can hold himself up an inch over the other boy’s chest while he finds the edge of Mikoshiba’s boxers and pushes his fingers past the elastic. Mikoshiba doesn’t move until Nozaki’s fingers brush over his length; then he takes a sudden startled breath, rocks up so hard his leg pushes in against Nozaki’s erection, and his arm slips sideways and off his face.

“Tomoda,” Nozaki says, more to remind himself of the goal beyond the heat firing his blood and the weird lost expression on Mikoshiba’s face. “Is this what you wanted?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Mikoshiba says, too instantly for him to think about the answer at all. Nozaki pushes at the edge of cloth, turns his wrist so he can close his fingers on Mikoshiba’s length, and the other boy lets out a shuddering lungful of air. “Nozaki.”

His name sounds strange, weighted with heat and meaning Nozaki can’t quite read correctly, and for the first time in his life Nozaki thinks there might be a loss in the conversation to manga, because there is no way he can ever capture the way that one word sounds in Mikoshiba’s voice right now.

“Tomoda,” he says again, and rocks hard against the other boy’s hip. “Can you too?”

“ _Ah_ ,” Mikoshiba says, and the flush high over his cheekbones slides out of arousal and into more typical embarrassment. But he does wiggle his arm down between his body and Nozaki’s, replaces his palm where it was less the intervention of the other’s boy’s pants, and that is enough for the moment, the pressure takes the very edge off the distracting burn under Nozaki’s skin so he can pull himself back into focus on stroking over Mikoshiba’s length. The other boy arches up into the movement of Nozaki’s fingers; his eyes are entirely unfocused, now, he’s staring up at the ceiling with his lips parted like he can’t entirely breathe, his inhales are coming audible and hard enough Nozaki can see his chest working for air, can feel the movement against his own body. More than just Mikoshiba’s face is flushed, now; Nozaki can see pink rising under every inch of skin he can see, can feel the other boy going harder and warmer under his fingers without even looking. Mikoshiba is breathing faster, too, arching up off the floor as the movement of his fingers against Nozaki goes slower and more irregular with distraction. His eyelashes flutter, his lips part, his hips come up off the floor entirely; then he groans “ _Nozaki_ ,” the sound tearing apart into heat and pleasure in his throat, and he drops back to the floor as he pulses under Nozaki’s hold and comes over his stomach.

Nozaki is as patient as he can manage in waiting for the other boy to recover; he draws his fingers free, braces himself on his elbow so he can keep his sticky fingers free of their clothes or the floor. Mikoshiba takes a deep breath, opens his eyes, and that is exactly as long as Nozaki can wait.

“Mikoshiba,” he says before remembering they’re supposed to be in character. “Tomoda. I want to, too.”

“Oh.” Mikoshiba blinks, looks down at his stalled-out hand. Nozaki watches him go crimson again, cringe back from the edge of embarrassment, but he curls his fingers tighter, starts to grind his palm in against Nozaki through his boxers.

“Wait.” Nozaki shifts back, reaches down to push the edge of his clothes down a few inches. Mikoshiba shies back, pulls his hand away like he’s suddenly uncertain, and Nozaki reaches out to catch his wrist and pull it back. “It’s fine, it’s just like when you’re touching yourself.” He has no real experience with this claim, but judging from Mikoshiba’s reaction that technique worked just fine in the other direction, and when the other boy hesitantly curls his fingers into a grip Nozaki is pretty sure it’ll work just fine for him as the recipient as well.

“ _God_ ,” he blurts without thinking, closes his eyes and lets his head hang forward. “Yeah, like that.”

He can hear Mikoshiba swallow hard, like he’s bracing himself to jump off a ledge; then the fingers against Nozaki tighten, move up in a stroke, and Nozaki loses track entirely of Mikoshiba’s reactions for the wave of heat that rushes through his skin in response. He makes some noise, a groan or a sigh of satisfaction, and Mikoshiba starts to move faster, his movements gaining speed and confidence at once. Nozaki isn’t sure if he’s breathing in the warmth off Mikoshiba’s skin, or if it’s his own body generating the curling ripples of heat washing out into his limbs; it doesn’t matter, anyway. Mikoshiba is moving faster and ever more rhythmically, starting to match his movements to the tiny involuntary thrusts of Nozaki’s hips in against his hold, and for all the situation is unfamiliar the ever-increasing warmth in Nozaki’s blood has the anticipation he recognizes as promised satisfaction.

“Oh,” he says, not thinking about his words at all. “God, Mikorin, don’t stop, you’re...I’m going --” and he’s gone, the last of his words lost to a low moan against Mikoshiba’s shoulder as warmth flashes to heat and washes the tension in his body into starburst satisfaction.

Mikoshiba has stopped moving when Nozaki thinks to push himself back up onto the support of his hands, though he hasn’t let the other boy go yet. His eyes are wide and nearly frightened, like he’s on the verge of some terrifying discovery, even with pleasure washing his features into gentle relaxation.

“It’s okay,” Nozaki soothes, sliding away so he can reach across the bed. “I’ve got tissues to clean up.” When he turns back around Mikoshiba has moved to sit up; Nozaki nearly smashes their noses together before he can lean back an inch to avoid the impact. They both are still for a moment, too close for Nozaki to properly see Mikoshiba’s features, but he can see the way Mikoshiba’s eyes flicker downward before his own gaze drops to the other boy’s parted lips. Neither of them moves for a breath; then Mikoshiba starts to blush, and Nozaki moves to sit back on his heels, offers the other boy the box. Mikoshiba takes the offering, looks down as he starts to clean himself up. Nozaki can still see his blush, even in the shadow of his hair.

He’s smiling when Mikoshiba speaks, sounding too-high and strained. “Uh. So. Do you -- is that what you needed?”

It takes Nozaki a moment to place the question, to recall the original purpose past the spreading satisfaction in his body. “Oh. Yeah. That was perfect.” There is something wrong with his throat, his words are echoing lower than they usually sound. “That was exactly what I needed.”

Mikoshiba glances up without raising his chin. He’s still blushing dark, and he’s chewing his lip again, but when he sees Nozaki’s expression his eyes go soft, he lets his lip go in favor of smiling. Nozaki didn’t realize he was still smiling himself until he sees it echoed on the other boy’s features.

It is good reference, he tells himself as he reaches for one of the tissues himself. There is no reason at all he should be blushing, not when they were just researching.

He’s still warmer than he ought to be.


End file.
